With the four of them seated around the fire, and Barney keeping everyone company, the meal became surprisingly light-hearted. Just friends, enjoying a supper together. First helpings, then seconds. By then, their guests were waiting on themselves and the McCains, as well, offering extravagant compliments on the food, sharing tall tales and laughter.
Finished, Cole issued a decree. “When I’m lucky enough t’ eat here,” he pointedly informed his friend, “I red up and wash the dishes.”
Jordan, replete by now with full belly and spiked coffee, eyed him askance. “That true?”
“Yep. So shake a leg, and let’s get crackin’. Need t’ let this lady stay off her feet a while.”
Friendship of long standing often involves practical jokes, teasing, and good-natured insults. So it went tonight. Not only was Janetta able to chuckle at some of their back-and-forth banter, but she was relieved to see her father appreciating the fun, too. He was so caught up in the moment that he had hardly coughed at all.
Eventually, as the hour grew later and the fire got itself replenished, the talk turned serious. Who was involved in the crime spree? What could possibly be the motive? Any suspects in mind?
There were no answers. Only more speculation.
Discussion of the Simmons accident came next.
“Fine young couple,” Jordan, sprawled on the ground near Oliver with long legs outstretched and ankles crossed, observed quietly. “Sorry t’ lose ’em. They’re the kinda people that woulda made somethin’ of the west.”
“They can make somethin’ wherever they end up,” argued Cole.
“True enough. But puttin’ that pioneer spirit t’ work where it’s needed sure woulda been a positive thing. Gonna miss havin’ ’em around.”
At Oliver’s request, Cole had managed to pry loose a wooden rocker from between crates and boxes inside the wagon and haul it out for Janetta’s use. Gratefully, mindful of her aching back, she sank onto its cushion with a great sigh of relief.
“I’m going to miss little Charity,” she murmured now, almost to herself.
But Cole caught the comment, and looked up. “Not a good place for you t’ be, just then,” he told her, “in your condition.”
Her eyes filling with tears, she slowly shook her head back and forth. “Ruth needed me.”
“Right at that minute, she needed her husband more. And none of us wanted t’ see you givin’ birth t’ that baby of yours too early, with everything goin’ on.”
The tears gave way to blushes, visible even in the firelight. Over the mound of her middle, both hands laced together as if to hold necessary components safely in place. And Cole noticed.
Over by the wagon, Oliver and Jordan were talking together in low tones. Making arrangements for the morrow, no doubt, when both McCains would be shunted to the rear. Their conversation left the other two, sitting around the fire, to speak more privately.
“Uh. Since you—uh—kinda brought it up,” Cole began, feeling his way along, “I been wonderin’ if you got things all set.”
“All set?”
“Ahuh. Stuff you’ll need soon. Uh. Clothes, and blankets, and such.”
At six weeks she had felt nausea and exhaustion; at three months she had felt quickening like the flutter of butterfly wings; at almost seven months she was feeling heartburn and bloating and overwhelming fatigue. As physically uncomfortable as she was becoming, as ungainly and clumsy as her body was causing her to be, as many lifestyle changes as she was having to make due to this burden in her belly, Janetta hadn’t quite sensed reality sinking in yet.
It was if this baby belonged to another, carried in another’s womb. The whole concept of motherhood—she, Janetta McCain, a mother!—simply didn’t fit who she was and what she wanted to be. She had made no plans for any future past birth, because her mind refused to accept what was actually happening.
For Cole to bring the real world home with his questions was to tug her back to earth from some rarefied plane.
“I—yes. Yes, I do have—clothes, and blankets, and such. Packed away, in the wagon.”
“Have you talked to Doc Ashton, gettin’ some information about—well, y’ know…what t’ expect?”
Resting her head with its weight of bronze hair against the back of the rocker, she nodded. “A little. He promised he would help me, when the time comes.”
“Huh.” He thought that over for a minute, leaning forward with both forearms resting on splayed knees. Then, “You doin’ okay with—well…I mean…uh…how you feel—about all this.”
Movement showed in the smooth skin of her throat as she swallowed. “I don’t know, Cole. Right now, I just don’t know. It’s been very hard, coming to terms with what happened to me. Having the Reverend paint me as a—as a fallen woman—hasn’t made things any easier.”
A sound came from him so much like a low growl that Barney, startled, woke from a sound sleep to lift his head and look around. “Never felt so much like throttlin’ a man in my life,” he admitted.
“Oh, I’m relieved you didn’t. Then you’d be in jail, and I’d be cursed, and that would be a fine how-do-you-do for both of us.”
He looked across at her with a curiously sweet crooked grin. “Glad you can still poke fun.”
“I’m trying, Cole. I’m really trying.”
Just then, Jordan pulled himself upright, settled his hat, and extended a thank-you for the very tasty meal tonight. “And the company,” he added. “I appreciated gettin’ a little change of pace.”
“Even if you did have to wash dishes after?” Janetta teased. “You’re very welcome, Jordy. Feel free to join us any time.”
Cole, too, rose, with a good night for his hosts. One of whom, stretched out beside the fire, was snoring in fits and starts. “I’ll head on back with you, Mr. Boss Man,” he drawled. “Wouldn’t wantcha t’ get set upon by rabid coyotes, out here in the wilds.”
They were about halfway returned to the main wagon, striding along in the moonlight with cozy night sounds of a train’s population settling down, when Cole pulled his friend off to the side.
“I’m stayin’ with ’em, Jordy,” he announced in his low, deliberate voice.
“Ahuh. Figured.” The master stood casually hipshot, both palms slid into his back pockets.
“I’ll still scout when I can. When it looks bad ahead. But—hell. You know what’s goin’ on.” The sideways jerk of Cole’s curly head indicated the wagon they had come from, with its myriad of problems. “A man can’t just leave ’em alone, t’ fend for themselves, not with the shape they’re in.”
“Some men could. But not you.”
“Yeah. Well…sorry, Jordy. Don’t mean t’ be causin’ you trouble.”
Jordan reached out to lightly cuff his friend’s upper arm. “Think I’ve heard that one b’fore, when we was kids raisin’ hell. Naw, it’ll be all right, son. I got enough hired men t’ cut you some slack. And I can send a rider back when I need you. Things’ll work out.”
“Huh. Sure hope so, Jordy. Thanks.”
VI
The pace Cole set was an easier one.
To the McCain wagon, he had brought an extra horse, his own supplies and personal belongings, and, most importantly, a map. For the present, with dry weather greeting their entry into the Territory of Wyoming, any activity on the road ahead sent dust clouds into the air for miles, marking the train’s position. If and when that situation might change, then Cole’s folded map would serve.
So far no unusual danger had presented itself to the travelers. Now, with only two gunhands available—in a pinch, three, using Janetta—Cole kept ever more careful watch of his surroundings.
Treaties had been signed with representatives of the American Indian nations, but the white man’s thirst for land and opportunity, and his ever-westward expansion, was increasing tensions along the way. After the Bozeman Trail cut through Powder River Country hunting grounds in 1864, attacks had begun and fighting escalated to the point that the arm
y had had to intervene. The second Treaty of Fort Laramie, completed just last year, had completely closed that area to whites, with the result that safe passage could be assured for the homesteaders.
Cole devoutly hoped it stayed that way.
He did not share these concerns with the two he was protecting.
Nor did he share the fact that here, alone and at the very rear of the train, he was occasionally feeling an odd prickle at the back of his neck. As if someone were watching from the shadows, keeping pace with their pace, As if he were wearing a bright red target, all set for that someone’s potshots, spread across his shoulders.
Janetta was walking alongside the wagon when their road passed Chimney Rock. A natural formation, right there in the middle of all that flat prairie land, its spire juts more than 300 feet upward from its conical base, and has served as a landmark for pioneers during a good many years of traveling.
Astounded, she simply stopped and stared.
“Quite a sight, ain’t it?” grinned Cole on horseback, just returned from a brief foray ahead. “Never seen such a thing in my life.”
“Oh, Janie, girl.” Oliver, resting on the wagon seat, craned his neck to view this extraordinary feature as long as possible. “That alone is worth the cost of the trip.”
Reaching Fort Laramie would take a few more days. By then, they would have covered another 200 miles. Not yet halfway. And the hardest part of the trip, the most demanding part, still to come.
It was a clear late August day, and stretching out through the grasslands lay a panoply of wildflowers, tall stalks bending their white and pink and purple heads in the breeze. Scattered amongst them grew sagebrush and silverberry; farther off a few cottonwood and some ash; farther yet, beyond the foothills, a range of mountains, misty craggy things that seemed much closer than they were.
“Uh-uh,” said Cole, when posed this question. “Distance is a fooler out here. You’d be surprised, what a ways away it is.”
“In fact?” Janetta marveled. “Seems you could almost reach right out and touch the peaks.”
Everyday sounds, as the wagon rolled forward, were part of the background: barely heard, largely ignored, unless something unusual caught one’s attention. Birdsong, trilled from lowland and pine; bees industriously buzzing from flower to flower; crickets or grasshoppers offering the occasional chirp; the rustle of tree branches in a breeze, or the jingle of harness and tack—easy, comfortable bits of resonance, reminders that home, though left many miles behind, could be carried anywhere in memory.
Janetta, half-asleep on her seat in the warm summer sunshine despite being jounced along, woke fully at the sound of the dog barking. “Is something wrong with Barney?” Shifting position, to ease the burden in front and the aching muscles in back, she peered around.
“Naw. Cole went scoutin’ ahead of us for a while, then b’hind, just makin’ sure things are as they should be. Barney’s only sayin’ welcome home. That dog does think a lotta Cole Yancey.” Her father slid a sly glance sideways. “And so do I.”
Before she could agree that, of course, she knew just how he felt about their guardian, Cole came trotting his horse from the rear toward them. “How’re you two doin’?”
A wide stretch of legs and arms, and a faint smile. “I wonder if you might make arrangements for a room at the area’s finest hotel, Cole. Complete with bathtub and eating establishment.”
“Huh. Can’t exactly do that, Janie, but I can do somethin’ almost as good. Got us a great campin’ spot up ahead. Sheltered, plentya grass for the stock, fresh water. And a sandy-bed crick where you can sink down in t’ your chin. How’s that?” His familiar crooked grin flashed up, warming her to the marrow.
“Don’t think I’d mind none of that myself, son,” Oliver commented, as the oxen kept up their slow steady pace. “How much farther?”
“Ten, fifteen minutes maybe. Think you can hang on that long?”
Much as he’d like to have continued on the road for another few hours, it was time to call a halt.
Cole didn’t like the look of either one of his wards. Both were thinner than they had any right to be, with skin the color of flour paste. What good would he be as a friend and watchdog if he couldn’t get them settled somewhere, with a decent future ahead? Oliver, especially, was in only fair shape, yet doing his best to hide the coughing and the blood-stained handkerchief from his daughter, who was contending with her own problems.
Jesus. What had he been thinking, to try playing the hero for a woman in her seventh month of pregnancy?
Even tired and wrung out as she was, Janetta exclaimed with pleasure at the beauty of the area he’d chosen. A whole field full of those delicious wildflowers, and trees galore. Oxen halted and wagon at rest, she pulled her ungainly body toward the step to climb down.
“Hey, wait a minute and I’ll help.” Dismounting to hurry forward, Cole was grumbling even as he slipped both hands into her armpits to lift her bulk to the ground. “For God’s sake, woman, you got no patience. You plannin’ t’ birth that baby right here in plain sight?”
“There might be worse places,” she replied pertly. “However, I’m looking for some privacy for a few minutes to—well, I need privacy.”
“Do tell. Sorry I inconvenienced you.”
Their relationship was friendly enough most of the time, other than her prickly, gnarly moods when she was feeling either put upon or out of sorts. Which was turning out to be quite often. Cole stood still for a minute, with his hat off to scratch his head, watching her waddle away. Then he needed to turn his attention to Oliver, who seemed to having some trouble himself climbing down.
First was the quilt, folded over and spread under a pine, so he could rest his weary bones “just a mite,” he murmured.
Then Cole unyoked and unhitched the oxen and turned them loose. Unlike mules or horses, oxen tended not to wander, once supplied with whatever forage they needed. Nor were they fussy beasts; able to subsist on scrub in the worst of places, these animals were the bulwark of the plains, and Oliver’s team had been a good one.
Wood there was a-plenty: dead pine needles, bare white twigs, fallen branches. In no time, Cole had a fire going, water collected, and the coffee brewing. When Janetta returned, she praised his exemplary efforts with one side of her tongue and, with the other, chastised him for doing so much on his own.
“Janie.”
“Yes?” She looked over from the skillet retrieved out of her cooking supplies.
“Kindly shut up.”
An early supper enticed Oliver to at least sit up and accept a plate, although he couldn’t be persuaded or forced to eat more than a token helping: fried bacon and baked beans with juice sopped up by crumbly cornbread. Hot coffee helped fill up any empty spots, he claimed. A cup surreptitiously filled by the savory contents of that magic bottle from under the wagon seat.
Conversation went on in fits and starts. Tired out by activity and exertion, everyone felt quite content just to enjoy the crackling flames, the quiet reassuring sounds of oxen biting and crunching at their prairie grass, the singing blaze of stars overhead whose Polaris had guided travelers for eon upon eon.
“I wanna thank you, Cole,” said Oliver into the quiet. He was lying on his side, after shifting his thin frame from a few lumps and bumps that had collected under the blanket, with Barney sprawled, nose to paws, next to him.
“Ahuh.” The guide had parked his saddle-sore bottom on a stool, knife in hand, to work at a piece of grainy wood in his hand. He was whittling; all the Yancey boys whittled. Cole figured it beat smoking a smelly pipe all to hell. “You’re welcome.”
“No, don’t brush me off. I mean it. This is a fine thing you done, takin’ on our problems as you have, ridin’ with us. Woulda been scared t’ death, thinkin’ of my Janie girl left out here on the plains, all alone.”
From the rocker—her Godsend!—she stirred enough to glance sleepily and affectionately over at her father. “I wouldn’t have been alone, Pa. You
’re with me.”
Oliver caught the understanding eye of their companion, watching over this damaged pair with such diligence and care. “Janie, honey, listen t’ me, now, b’cause I ain’t got much longer.”
She caught her breath. “No, Pa, I won’t hear it. You’re just exhausted, that’s all. It’s been a rough trip, and you—”
“It’s been an easy trip so far, and you know it. The rough part lays up ahead. But I don’t think I’m gonna make it that far.”
In the firelight her fingers were clenched over the rocker’s arms, and her laden body had stiffened against its back. “Of course you will. We’ll go on together, you and I, and Cole, too. Just as we’d planned, getting to Fremont.”
“Janie, Janie.” Wistfully he shook his head, studying her with all the love in his heart. “Wonder how I coulda raised me a gal so damned obstinate. You thinkin’ so, Cole?”
Despite the moment’s seriousness, he managed to chuckle. “I’m thinkin’ so. Obstinate as the day is long.”
From just over the knoll came a solid thump, and then the rustle of grass. One of the oxen, settling in for the night. Turtle doves mourned low and soft from their perches, and against the twilit sky came a flap of bird wings—geese, flying to water and home.
“You put me in mind of your ma,” mused Oliver, “when she was carryin’ you. Most beautiful woman I ever saw, all swollen up as she was. And you’re as beautiful as she was.”
“Beautiful? Pa, you’re going blind as well as dotty!” she scoffed. “I look like a pumpkin with legs. I have no ankles, and soon I won’t be able to see my feet even to put on my boots. Every bit of clothing I have is too tight. And as for my skin and hair—”
“Bloomin’ like a May flower,” Cole, who had been following this broody contemplation with puzzlement, put in unexpectedly.
Janetta stared.
“Uh. I mean…” He fumbled and stumbled around, “Well. Not as bad as you think, anyway.” Which was the best he could do for explanation right then. Offering a shy, uncomfortable smile, Cole ducked back out of the conversation and returned to his self-appointed task.
A Western Romance: Cole Yancey: Taking the High Road (Taking The High Road Series Book 9) Page 9
